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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131408">the edges of the plastic began to chip away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek &amp; Paul/Levenson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alive Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen) Deserves Better, Connor Murphy Has a Crush on Evan Hansen, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to the book, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, eventually, fake emails, so much slow burn, sorry - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:21:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor lied. He told his mom he had a friend.<br/>Why did he do that? No clue.<br/>But now he needs proof.<br/>There's this kid, Hansen.<br/>He doesn't hang out with anyone. Connor has wanted to talk to him for years.<br/>He seemed like a decent person. Skittish, an introvert for sure, but he seemed nice.<br/>He's always wearing blue.<br/>Maybe he'd like to help Connor out. A fake email or two is all he needs. Not like it's a long term commitiment or anything.<br/>One favor then this Hansen kid can go back to hiding in plain sight.</p><p>OR: Connor and Evan send fake emails. And then those emails become not-fake.</p><p>(This story was discontinued.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evan Hansen &amp; Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Evan twisted his fingers into his shirt nervously. He could <em> feel </em> someone looking at him. But who? Where?</p><p> </p><p>He glanced around, trying to seem nonchalant and chill, but ended up just looking more nervous. As he scanned the room, everyone was looking at the board. Except for one kid in the back. Evan made eye contact with him and immediately faced the front again, staring at the scratches on the desk. </p><p> </p><p>The kid (<em>Connor Murphy </em> , the ‘helpful’ voice in his head supplied) had ice-cold eyes that Evan could still <em> feel </em>on the back of his head. When their eyes met, he didn’t look away, he just kept staring at Evan. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe Evan had done something. Maybe Connor was pissed. Maybe he’d go crazy and yell at him. Maybe he knew Evan liked Zoe… Maybe he noticed Evan was following Zoe’s Instagram. Oh god…</p><p> </p><p>Evan twisted his fingers into his shirt more, tightening it, then releasing, then knotting them back in all over again. He couldn’t focus on whatever the teacher was saying about rocks and fault lines because the sickening feeling that <em> Connor Murphy: The Problem Kid is staring at him </em> was making him queasy. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced back again, only to be met with those cold eyes. Connor didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Evan’s really in for it now.</p><p> </p><p>When the bell rang, Evan quickly stood up, quickly gathering his books and trying to get out of the room. He didn’t want to be in the same space as Connor for longer than he had to be.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced back at Connor again as he darted out the door. He wasn’t looking at him anymore, he was just cramming his unused notebooks into his messenger bag. </p><p> </p><p>Evan let out a breath of relief as he turned away, making his way to his locker. </p><p> </p><p><em> Maybe </em> Connor <em> wasn’t </em> looking at him. <em> Maybe </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Evan grabbed his bag out of his locker, filling it with his homework for the night. He yelped as someone slammed the locker next to him, his papers falling to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>He apologized repeatedly as he grabbed the papers and crammed them into his bag. He stood, finally looking up at the person. </p><p> </p><p>Connor was just standing there, his arms crossed. </p><p> </p><p>Evan’s breath caught in his throat as Connor handed him a piece of paper. Connor looked… nervous? But maybe he was just high. </p><p> </p><p>“Wh-what’s this?” Evan asked, his hands shaking. </p><p> </p><p>“Could you…” Connor scratched the back of his neck, looking away from Evan. “Could you do me a favor?” </p><p> </p><p>Evan wanted to shake his head, wanted to say <em> No! Absolutely not! What are you doing, using me in a scheme for drugs! Or, like, something else criminal! You’re crazy, get away from me! </em></p><p> </p><p>But instead, he just squeaked out a quiet, “Uh, sure?” </p><p> </p><p>The corners of Connor’s lips twisted slightly, and his ever-present frown seemed more like a faint smile. “I just need you to email this tonight. That sounds weird, I know, but… My parents think I have a friend now. So just… email this. Like a friend.” </p><p> </p><p>Evan pressed his lips together, his eyes wide with fear as he stared up at Connor. “Uh- I- what? Me?”</p><p> </p><p>Connor shrugged. “Whatever. I just noticed you don’t really hang out with anyone. So at least this way, we can both <em> pretend </em> to have friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Evan stared up at him, folding the corner of the paper over and over in his sweaty hands. Great, now the sweat would get under his cast. The cast with no signatures, blank and sad. Blank and sad because he had no friends that would sign it. “Okay- Uhm- alright…” </p><p> </p><p>Connor nodded once, then turned and walked off. </p><p> </p><p>Evan looked at the paper in his hand, then at his blank cast, then up at Connor, watching as he turned the corner down the hall. </p><p> </p><p>What had he gotten himself into now?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! any comments are greatly appreciated &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the late update, coronavirus had me really bust preparing to be shut in for a few weeks. my school is all online now, so ill have lots of free time for the next couple weeks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor hadn’t smoked anything in three days. It was the longest time he hadn't smoked in four years. </p><p> </p><p>His mom, of course, got her hopes up. Connor knew she’d be absolutely <em> thrilled </em> when he showed her the fake email that Hanson kid was supposed to send him. <em> Wow Connor, you’re really turning around! No smoking </em> and <em> a friend! It’s almost like you’re normal! </em></p><p> </p><p>He would never admit it, but Connor loved his mom. He wanted her to be happy. The only way Connor could figure was to fake it. Make it seem like he’s getting better without telling her the truth. She didn’t need to know how bad he was doing. He didn’t even know how bad he was doing.</p><p> </p><p>So that’s why when his laptop pinged, he raced across the room to check his email. He clicked furiously, eager to have received <em> the </em> email. Not because he <em> wanted </em> to get an email from a real person, but because he wanted to make his mom happy.</p><p> </p><p>And there it sat. An email from one: Mark Hansen.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Hansen guy’s name is Mark…?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Connor could’ve sworn he’d always heard the teachers say <em> Evan </em> during class. But hey, whatever. Maybe he just never corrected them. Sounds like something he’d avoid- confrontation. </p><p> </p><p>He clicked the email. Read it over.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dear, Connor Murphy.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Hey, man! We’ve been really out of touch. Life is wild, but if you’re struggling, I’m still here for you, if you want to talk about anything that’s been going on. If you want. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>If you don’t though, that’s okay! </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>What’s your favorite tree?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sincerely, me.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Connor sighed. The email felt so… fake. Structured. Thought out.</p><p> </p><p>Like Mark had thought: <em> what do friends talk about?  </em></p><p> </p><ul>
<li><em>Give an excuse for losing contact</em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li>Support them</li>
</ul><ul>
<li>Share an interest</li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <em> That’s what friends do, right? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Connor rolled his eyes. That’s what he gets for choosing the weird kid with no friends. </p><p> </p><p>Connor leaned over the keyboard. He can’t expect <em> one </em> email to cut it. They needed to seem like actual friends. </p><p> </p><p>He thought for a moment, then began typing.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Evan paced around his room. </p><p> </p><p>Would Connor send an email back? If he’s going to act like Evan’s friend, it's only courteous. </p><p> </p><p>Was his email shitty? He’s never had to email someone unprofessionally. What if he sounded stiff? Do people even use Dear ____ and Sincerely _____ anymore or is Evan just lame?</p><p> </p><p>What if Connor’s parents didn’t buy it? What if they knew it was fake because <em> who the hell writes emails in 2019? </em></p><p> </p><p>Evan sat on his bed, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He didn’t need to go and have a panic attack over nothing. </p><p> </p><p>He did as he was told. Send an email to Connor Murphy: The Problem Kid, act like a friend, that’s it. </p><p> </p><p>And he acted like a friend, didn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>Evan wouldn’t know, but if he had a real friend, he would want them to be supportive, but also interesting and easy to talk to. And, well, Evan gave Connor a conversational prompt based on his own interest in trees. And there were so many trees, how could the topic ever be dull? </p><p> </p><p>He pulled his computer into his lap, refreshing the page. There it was. A new email from Connor. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dear Mark Hansen, </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thanks for the email, I also miss talking to you. Im fine. I think the pink ones are pretty.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sincerely, me.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Evan blinked, the email was very short. It responded to each part of his, piece by piece. Missed contact; how are you; tree.</p><p> </p><p>But he called Evan, <em>Mark.</em> <em>Mark Hansen</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Evan immediately started typing back. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dear Connor Murphy,</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>My name is actually </b> <b> <em>Evan</em> </b> <b> Hansen, but I can see how youd get that messed up because like it says it in my email address but Mark is my first name and Evan is my middle name and i go by my middle name instead because Mark is my </b> <b> <em>dad’s</em> </b> <b> name so like we cant have the same name right? It would be confusing. </b></p><p> </p><p>Evan read the paragraph over, deciding to delete it and start again. </p><p> </p><p>Did Connor even want another email? Was Evan being annoying, like when he texts Jared about something and Jared goes <em> oh my God, Evan this conversation should’ve ended like half an hour ago!  </em></p><p> </p><p>Evan began again. </p><p> </p><p>How many emails did Connor want?</p><p> </p><p>Would correcting his name throw off the whole ‘long-time-friends’ act?</p><p> </p><p>What if Evan was messing this up for Connor?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Dear Conner Murphy, </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I’m glad you’re feeling alright. How are your classes? I saw you in Chem today and decided to get back in touch with you. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sincerely, </b>
  <b>
    <em>Evan </em>
  </b>
  <b>Hansen. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It all felt so stiff… So faux… So </span>
  <em>
    <span>shitty</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that’s to be expected from a fake friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor chuckled slightly though, at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>pettiness </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the last line.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, I’m actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>Evan </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hansen, you idiot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor shut his computer for a moment, grinning. Maybe this Evan guy wasn’t so boring after all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had a sense of humor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor opened his computer and began to type back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dear </b>
  <b>
    <em>Evan </em>
  </b>
  <b>Hansen,</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>My classes are fine. Chem is boring, math is hard. I prefer writing. Im glad you emailed me. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sincerely, me.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Connor’s laptop pinged. He turned in his swivel chair, setting his book down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dear, Connor Murphy</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You like to write? That’s so cool! I write a lot too, although it’s not very good. I don’t like chem either, my seat makes me kinda nervous. Like, it’s right in the middle of the class. But I didn’t think to sit anywhere else in the beginning and now i dont wanna screw up someone elses seat. You know?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sincerely, me.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Evan seemed to have loosened up a bit. His message felt less stiff, more real. Definitely nervous. Connor smiled softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Dear Evan Hansen, </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Yeah I get it. But like. There’s an open seat beside me if you’d like to sit in the back. I don’t think you’ll fuck up the seating chart if you sit next to the kid everyone’s afraid of.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor pursed his lips, looking up at the ceiling. What is he doing? Offering the seat at his empty table to some fake-friend kid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>If you want. If not that’s fine, I’d probably only make u more nervous. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>And yeah, I write here and there. Fun pastime.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Anyways, think on it? </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Goodnight. Sincerely, me.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Evan wouldn’t send him any more messages. Maybe he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> scared now than he had been earlier, in the hallway. Maybe he’d avoid Connor at all costs, like everyone else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor huffed and stood, pressing print on the emails. He hoped Evan wouldn’t mind. This is, after all, what he signed up for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor ran down the stairs and grabbed the papers from the printer, putting them in order in a neat stack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked into the dining room, slamming the stack down way harder than necessary in front of his mother. “There. Proof. I’m not a fucking liar. Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It came out so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn’t mean it. The disrespect, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hatred.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He didn’t mean it. Especially not towards his mother. But, it seemed, all his words, all his actions; they came out </span>
  <em>
    <span>venomous</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, sleep well. I- I love you, Connor.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Connor rolled his eyes and stomped loudly up the stairs. It was all fake. His mother's love- fake. His venom- fake. Everything was fake. The plastic was beginning to chip at the edges. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the wait, thank you for reading &lt;3</p><p>Stay safe, and wash your hands.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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